Saint-Aignan's annual brocante / vide-grenier

On the subject of our five a.m. appointment in town yesterday, the train station was a good guess. But no cigar — and in fact, the local train station is not even in Saint-Aignan. It's across the river in Noyers, and it's not "downtown" over there either. One of the realities here is that the train stations are often not in the center of town but outside, or even across the river.

No, Keir of course got it right (well, nearly), and that's normal because she and her husband live about five miles down the road, on the other side of Saint-Aignan. Our rendez-vous was with friends of ours who live down on the market square in old Saint-Aignan. They recently sold a house that they rented out to tourists, and they had decided to sell the furniture, linens, and small appliances from that house, also on the square, at Saint-Aignan's annual brocante / vide-grenier yesterday. We weren't selling anything ourselves.

There was lots of "junque" for sale on the market square
in Saint-Aignan yesterday

A brocante is a second-hand store. A vide-grenier — literally "empty [your] attic" — is the closest thing we have here in France to an American yard sale or garage sale. On the middle Sunday in August, more or less, the streets of Saint-Aignan are transformed into a big flea market.

A street leading up from the river into old-town Saint-Aignan

Professional brocanteurs (who deal in second-hand goods) bring in truckloads of stuff — furniture, glasses and dishes, old DVDs, CDs, and books — anything, really — and set up stalls and booths in town. Local residents haul whatever they want to get rid of out onto the streets and sidewalks. It's an all-day event, and it's well-attended, judging from the cars parked everywhere, including along the shoulders of the roads leading into town.

I really wanted the little chest of drawers in this picture,
but I finally decided against buying it.
Click on the picture with your mouse to enlarge it.

We had told our friends D., C., and S. that we'd be there at 5 a.m. to start helping them carry out furniture, dishes, and linens and to set up tables for their display. I think we surprised them by being on time. When we walked up to the house (having left the car in a parking lot by the bridge, sort of on the edge of town), D. heard us and stuck his head out the kitchen window on the second floor. He laughed and came downstairs in his bathrobe to let us in.

Looking down a side street in old Saint-Aignan

D. started making coffee and toast as we sat around the table and talked. In a minute or two, C. came down, all dressed and ready, to have breakfast too. She was probably surprised to see us so early, too, but happy about it. Around six, as dawn broke, we starting carting things out. We set up trestle tables. We hauled out shelving units and bookcases to hold small kitchen items and knicknacks. Other vendors arrived and started setting up too, and the first customers started looking the loot over and asking what other kinds of things we would be bringing out of the old house.

I understand that the little house on the square
that we call La Maison Bleue is for sale.

Walt and I had an ulterior motive for arriving so early in Saint-Aignan. We of course wanted to pitch in and help our friends get set up. But we also wanted to have first chance — the "right of refusal" — at some of the things they were selling. We ended up buying a couple of tabletop lamps, a set of eight like-new Grosfillex patio chairs, and other odds and ends.